What a Lovely Way to Burn
by LaBohme
Summary: Dean, Cas, baby Sammy and an adventurous country childhood in small-town Illinois. Scenes from tentative early years to wild teenage ones, and adult ones so real and so sad I cried writing them. In which John and his boys buy their first real home, John tries as hard as he can, and Dean runs into a hick neighbour kid named Cas. Rated M for later chapters, warnings for homophobia
1. Chapter 1

**April 8th, 1987**

Dean Winchester blinks bleary eyes open, pushing himself up to sit on the bench seat in the back of the Impala. He's careful not to disturb Sammy, who's curled up under a couple blankets beside him, breathing soft and slow. The stars shine bright, casting everything Dean can see in delicate blue light. His father snores and huffs from the front seat and the leftover dream-smells of burning hair and wood fade from Dean's mind. The leaping flames and burning house he sees in his sleep disintegrate and Dean props an elbow up in the shallow window cavity. Trees leave dark shapes on the ground. Three days left in Canada, Dean thinks. Three more days of funny, high accents like people in Minnesota and chill wind before his Father drops off whatever's in the trunk that Dean's not allowed to look at and picks up something else to drive back down into the States. Dean knows the drill. It's been the same for almost four years now. Dean will miss the maple syrup on every diner table, regardless of the time of day, and the giant moose they often see on the side of the road. Three more days, then it all begins again.

* * *

 **June 16th, 1987**

"For real, Dad?" Dean's voice is high and shrill but he can't even bring himself to care, to pull it back to the manliest tones an eight-year old can produce. "For real?!"

Sammy echoes him, bouncing up and down on his seat, seatbelt forgotten. "For real, for real, for real?!"

John chuckles, but Dean can hear the exhaustion behind it and a fierce protectiveness for his Father wells up in him. His Dad should sleep more.

"Yeah, boys. For real. I think it's about time we find a more permanent home, don't you?" His smirk is subtle and proud and for the first time since his wife's death, John carries the distinct feeling that he's doing something good for his sons.

"Where are we gonna find a home?" Dean asks.

"Wherever we want. Pick a State, boys." They've been to every State at least twice, save Rhode Island, Hawaii, and Alaska, and John knows his boys have found something good to say about every single one of 'em. They don't mention Kansas anymore.

"Okla _home_ -a!" Sam shouts, bursting into a fit of giggles.

"No!" Dean shouts, pushing Sam's arms away where he swings them in his face. "No, Illinois!"

A surprised chuckle bubbles up from John's throat. "Illinois? Why?"

"Last time we drove through there we saw like, ten bears!"

"Illinois doesn't have bears anymore." John deadpans at the same time as Sammy whines, " _Bears?!_ I don't want bears! Dean, I don't want bears!" his face screwing up in the start of a tantrum.

"Yeah, well tell that to the ones we saw on the interstate!"

John takes a fortifying breath. They're doing this. They're really doing this. "Sammy?" He looks at him through the rear-view. He's got his arms crossed, lips pursed in a pout. "Illinois?"

Sam takes a big breath, his shoulders lowering but his arms not uncrossing. "Okay. Illinois."

"Illinois." Dean repeats, a smile taking up half his face. "This is gonna be awesome."

* * *

 **June 26th, 1987**

Dean grabs Sam's chubby little hands and they start swinging around the lawn, dancing ridiculous dances to songs only they can hear. Their smiles are so bright and so wide John's chest aches. His guilt and his shame weigh heavy on his shoulders. He needs a drink. The prim woman in the suit beside him slaps a red 'SOLD' sign on the board swinging in front of the one-story white-sided building in a town of nine hundred. John breathes deep, taking in the wide, low wooden porch that will need more than a little work, the cloudy windows on either side of the screen door, the weeds and wildflowers growing tall beneath them. It's not perfect, and it's not new, and it's not clean, but John is certain that he and his boys can turn this into a home. His heart clenches for Mary.

* * *

 **June 28th, 1987**

Dean drops the last bag inside with a huff. The up-side to moving from a car into a house is that their belongings are minimal. About four duffel bags, total. He breathes deep, taking in only the smell of wood and shelter and ignoring the stale, musty tang of a house abandoned for years. An uncontrollable smile pulls at his cheeks, which hurt already from grinning so constantly. He has a home. A real home.

He swings around to face his Father, who's taking inventory of jobs to be done. "Can I go look at the backyard, Dad?"

John nods distractedly. "Not into the forest yet. I don't want you getting caught in a fuckin' bear trap, okay?" Dean nods hastily and rushes to the screen door on the other side of the living room that opens into the backyard. "And take your brother with you!"

"Yes, sir!" Dean calls over his shoulder, swinging around the overgrown side of the house to grab Sammy's arm from where he's sitting poking at ants on the cracked driveway.

"Sammy, come on!" Dean cries, hoisting him up onto his feet. Sam, pouty as ever, makes a noncommittal noise and pulls him arm out of Dean's grasp, but runs alongside him anyway.

Dean outright cackles when he sees the land before him. He'd heard his dad talking to the lady who helped them buy this house and he's pretty confident in saying that they have at least two acres between their house and the forest in the distance. They're framed by a wheat field on one side and a wooden fence holding cattle on the other. The grass under his bare feet is baked crispy and yellow and it pokes between his toes. Dean can't bring himself to care.

Dean sucks in a fortifying breath and lets out an animal cry before taking off. Sam stumbles a bit in keeping up with him so Dean slows fractionally. Sam's legs are just turning from baby-fat-laden sausages to unproportionally long, thin things that Dean knows means he's gonna be tall. Not taller than Dean, though, Dean hopes.

The yard is barren, Dean realizes halfway into it, save a few low trees that look excellent for climbing and what he assumes used to be a fire pit. There are holes every few feet that Sam trips over and Dean guesses they're for rabbits or something. In the corner of the yard, stretching from the forest and curving into the cattle's pasture, to both their delights', is a creek, bubbling and shallow and small and cool, and Sam squeals and claps when he approaches and four frogs jump synchronized into the water.

"Sammy, this is so cool!" Dean gushes, stepping carefully onto a rock in the middle of the water. "Come on, you can stand on that one!" He points to a big flat rock beside him, the water splashing angry and high against its sides.

Sam eyes Dean woefully before holding his hands out for balance and shakily placing his first bare foot on the rock.

"Dean-" His tone is worried and nervous, but Dean laughs and reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

"Come on, Sammy, you can do it!"

Sam puts all his weight on that one foot, and he's gone. The splash is loud and water soaks Dean's shorts.

Sam's wails start up loud and whining, and he lies there in the middle of the creek on slippery rocks and probably a few frogs, until Dean springs into action, an endless chant of "it's okay, Sammy, it's okay, you're fine, it's okay" on his lips as he steps carefully onto a couple rocks beside Sam and hoists him up by his forearms. Sam lets Dean pull his dead weight, head lolling back and eyes closing dramatically, being no help whatsoever.

"Ugh, Sam," Dean groans, finally pulling him up onto the shore.

"No, Dean." His voice is small. "That's it."

"Whaddya mean that's it?"

"I'm dead."

"No, the frogs your big butt sat on are dead. You're fine." Dean kicks some loose dirt on him for good measure before turning around to face the forest.

At that same moment, a bush at the forest's edge rustles. A dark shape darts from it to behind a tree three feet to the left.

"Sam." Dean's voice is suddenly quiet and he's standing alert. His fingers twitch. He wonders if he should've brought a weapon.

"WHAT?!" Sam cries emphatically from the ground. "What, Dean?! Just, what?!"

"Shut up, you loser. There's someone in the forest."

At this, Sam sits up, expression curious and open. "What kind of someone?"

"How the heck am i supposed to know?"

"Go look."

Dean huffs and glares at Sam. "Why don't you go look, Braveheart?"

Sam glares right back and they stay like that until another loud rustle breaks the silence of the country.

Dean creeps forward, slow and low to the ground. "Hello?" He calls.

Absolute silence, save the buzzing of the cicadas that herald the heat.

"Hello?" A little louder.

Dean's at the edge of the forest. The burnt grass and brome of their yard turns to green clover and moss. He looks back at his brother sitting wet and wide-eyed at the edge of the creek, and then back further to their little white house in the distance. His father has pulled the Impala around to the side of the house.

Dean takes a step forward. And another. More rustling. To his left. Dean's breath is coming fast and harsh. He leans forward. There's a small shape curled behind a tree. Dean steels himself and swings around. Twin yells echo up into the sky. Sam yells faintly behind Dean, always hating being left out. And Dean finds himself face-to-face with a boy, about one inch shorter than he.

Dean comes up dumb. His mouth gapes, taking the boy in - his shaggy, tangly black hair, his tanned skin, burned a little on his nose and cheeks, his clothes, dirt-stained and holey, and his eyes: huge, round, blue things, blinking owlishly at him. There's a slingshot clutched tightly in his fist. His mouth is open slightly and he's missing one of his front teeth.

"H-Hi." Dean tries.

The boy takes a small step back, expression blank, and then twists so fast Dean can feel the second-hand whiplash, and he's off running.

"Wait!" Dean finds himself yelling, taking off a split-second after. "WAIT!" He reaches forward, certain he's going to trip. He's never run this fast, he thinks. A little more, a little faster, his calves burning, and Dean fists the back of the boy's shirt. He hears a distinct rip before the boy twists around and suddenly they're both tumbling, limbs tangled, in the leaves, needles, and moss lining the forest floor.

The boy turns to glare at Dean but all Dean can do is pant for air, still holding the back of his shirt tight. "Wait," He huffs. "I'm Dean. We live there." He swallows and raises his other hand to point at their new home.

The boy raises an eyebrow before he speaks. "You moved into Dan Dell's house?" His voice is kind of low for his age, raspy like those goody-goody kids in the cookie commercial, like Dean's sometimes is when he just wakes up.

Dean shrugs. "I guess so."

The boy seems to evaluate him, eyes narrowed. "Where you from?"

Dean shrugs again. "Everywhere."

This answer seems to please the boy and he sits up, untangling his legs from Dean's, and Dean is forced to let go of his shirt. "I'm Castiel."

Dean nods, brow furrowing. Like Hell is he ever going to be able to remember that, let alone ever be able to spell it. He doesn't try to repeat it, an unwarranted blush starting to rise hot on his cheeks. "Cool."

Cas-whatever cocks his head to the side like a puppy Sam and Dean once found outside a motel and he raises another eyebrow at him, like he's judging him. Dean gets a weird kind of vibe from him, to be honest, but he looks smart and like he knows things, and for some reason Dean decides that he likes him.

He sticks out a hand between them and tentatively the kid shakes it. "I'm gonna call you Cas." Dean mutters awkwardly. He already forgets what the long version was.

Cas nods. "Okay."

"Cool slingshot."

"Thanks."

There's a beat where it's quiet and all they're doing is staring, as if they're trying to read each other. Cas' eyes are blue and piercing and they trap Dean's and he finds it hard to look away. He wonders distractedly if he's being mind-read or mind-controlled or something like that, like on TV. He thinks to himself that Cas would make a very good alien.

"Why are you in our yard?" Dean blurts, realizing as soon as he says it that that kinda sounds rude. He hopes dearly that Cas isn't someone who takes everything personally. He doesn't think he could deal with that.

But Cas looks unfazed and he looks past Dean and points to one of the trees Dean'd thought would be good for climbing. "I like sittin' in your trees." He gestures subtly with the slingshot. "I try to catch birds." There's another pause. He's staring out into Dean's yard, not looking at him. His expression is closed but Dean thinks he sees unease there. It unsettles him. "No one's lived in your house for a long time."

Dean nods along, fingers idly playing in a patch of Scotch moss. The bugs seem deafening around him. "Ever catch any?" Cas looks over at him, confused. "Birds." He clarifies.

Cas looks away again, digging a shallow hole with the handle of his slingshot. It looks handmade, Dean realizes, with a sanded stick and leather and elastic. "Nah. Birds are fast."

Dean nods, about to apologize for ripping the guy's shirt, and then Sam is screaming, "DEAN!" and Dean can hear his hiccuping breaths and his pattering steps as he waddle-runs up to them. His face is sad and pouty when he pushes past the final bush into the little clearing him and Cas are sitting in. "Dean." He repeats, avoiding Cas' interested stare as he takes a seat inches from his big brother.

"This is Sam," Dean supplies off-handedly. "who is too much of a baby to stay by himself for three frickin' minutes."

"I'm not!" Sam roars, shoving at Dean's arm, but when he crosses his own arms, he burrows tightly against Dean's side and Dean doesn't miss the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of Castiel's serious mouth. He decides that he and Cas are going to be friends, possibly for a very long time.

* * *

Hey, everyone. This story is something very different for me, not only in structure and language, but in that I actually have it all planned out (for the most part), beginning, middle, and end, so I shouldn't get stuck halfway like I usually do.

This story is all at once an Ode to my Childhood in a stupidly small town of farmers and the elderly, an 'In Memory' to a very good friend of mine, and a tragic love story very close to my heart. Also I absolutely love good-old-country-childhood-Destiel fics and they're hard to come by so I'm making my own. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**June 30th, 1987**

"Dad, these Cornflakes suck." Sam protests, poking at the soggy cereal violently with his spoon. Dean's not eating his either. John'd said there'd been something of a pantry left with the house in the basement and these Cornflakes were a part of it. They're ridiculously stale.

"Dean, eat your breakfast." John barks, not looking up from where he's trying to reattach a shelf to the wall. His screwdriver squeaks and they all cringe.

Dean looks up, ready to protest and correct his Father that it was Sam who was complaining, but he knows it's pointless. That was a lesson he'd learned a long time ago. So Dean shoves a big spoonful into his mouth and sure enough, moments later, Sam is doing the same. Dean quirks his nose around the dusty crap and forces himself to swallow. He sighs and looks around their new house. All their stuff is still in their bags so the house still looks like it's empty. Dean just sorta feels like they're squatting. They squatted for a while in Utah, once, when his Dad was hiding from a guy he cheated at a bar and Baby wasn't working too great. Dean and Sam had found it exciting, but this just sort of feels weird. Like they've promised they'll stay but they don't really know how.

Dean's gaze flits around the room until he settles to looking out the wide window the dinner table's butting up against. He squints through the early morning sun that makes everything bright and yellow. For the second day in a row, he scans the treeline for movement or shape, and for the first time, he sees it. A figure, tiny in the distance, sitting beside where Dean guesses the creek is. The land's too flat to really be sure. But the fact that Cas is in his yard makes Dean buzz with energy and excitement. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of the kid since their first strange encounter and honestly, Dean was just about prepared to accept that it was some weird daydream. Dean's about to hiss at Sam to get his attention and point out Cas, but something flares in him and for the first time Dean feels… self-conscious about bringing his brother everywhere with him. Sam is a baby, pretty well. What if Cas thinks that Dean is a loser for doing everything with his brother? Do the kids here only play with kids their own age? Is Dean being lame by bringing his brother along to see Cas? Dean can't risk it. He wants to be friends with Cas. So he stays quiet, and he shoves the rest of his Cornflakes into his mouth, and he excuses himself quietly from the table and from Sam, rinsing the dishes off quickly in the sink after his father reminds him. Having a sink - that's new. It makes Dean's chest well warm and thick.

The screen door slams and shudders loudly behind him. Sam's plaintive cry behind him is ignored.

"Hey!" Dean calls, running towards Cas, who is indeed sitting only feet from the little river. "What's up?" He slows a couple feet from where Cas is sitting and… picking flowers.

Cas just stares at him from his spot on the ground, and then Dean watches in confused horror as he picks a fluffy pink flower the size of a walnut off its stem, pulls little tubular petal-things off, and sucks on them before spitting them out, all the while maintaining aggressively intense eye contact. The dude is definitely weird. Dean can feel his face twist, nose quirked and eyes wide.

It's silent for a moment, save the cicadas, and the sun is beating hot on the back of Dean's neck.

"What're ya doin'?" He tries for nonchalance and fails.

Cas narrows his eyes like Dean is the one eating flowers in the dirt. His head cocks to the side again. Dean notes that his hair is way more matted today than it was yesterday. "You don't know what I'm doing?" Dean stays silent, shrugging a little. "You ever been outside?" His tone, though flat and emotionless, drips sarcasm.

"I kinda grew up in a car." is all Dean can think to say.

Cas huffs a little breath that Dean thinks may be a laugh. He picks another one and hands it to Dean, who takes it tentatively. "Honeysuckles. Suck 'em and they taste like honey."

Dean plucks a little pink tube off the main plant and puts the tip on his tongue.

"Other end, wise guy." Cas drawls.

Dean glares a little and turns it so the white part's in his mouth instead and he gives an experimental little inhale. The flower shoots right back into his throat and Dean's overcome by a sudden burst of coughing as Cas bursts into a cackling mess on the ground. Dean coughs and coughs, and Cas is reduced to giggling before he quits and just smiles up at Dean until he regains his breath and swallows the damn petal.

He's wearing the widest shit-eating grin Dean's ever seen, lips pulled taught to reveal his top teeth, the left front one still gone. Dean'd forgotten about that.

"Fuck off." Dean growls, pride momentarily wounded, and he's surprised and impressed when Cas neither balks, chides, or cows at his use of bad words. He just plucks off another little petal-tube for Dean and holds the white end up to his lips. Dean takes it gingerly and holds it in his lips, forming them into a tiny 'o'.

"Suck in. Keep your lips tight."

Dean does and he's pleasantly surprised by the sweetness that bursts across his tongue. He spits out the petal and smiles wide at Cas. Cas returns it and hands him another new flower from the plant next to him.

"So what're you doin' today?"

Cas shrugs. "Suckin' honeysuckles."

"All day?" Cas shrugs again and Dean takes a seat beside him. He stares out over their relatively small property, and at the cloudless sky, and at the dragonflies landing inches from his bare toes. Cas doesn't offer a response so Dean continues. "My Dad and Sam and I always had a plan for the day. Somewhere to be, someone to see… It never ended."

"What does your Dad do?" He can feel Cas eyeing him.

Dean clears his throat and shifts a little. He scratches the back of his neck. God knows he can't say he has no frickin' idea. He'll sound like a moron. "He's a salesman."

Cas stares at him for another couple seconds and Dean gets the distinct feeling that he doesn't believe a word he's saying, but Cas doesn't push it. He follows Dean's gaze to the horizon over the wheat across the street from the little white house.

The soft puffing of Cas spitting out petals is the only sound, save birds and bugs. Dean can't remember the last time he's felt this quiet, inside and out. It's kind of unnerving, really. Dean's not sure he likes it.

"So where do you live?" He finally breaks the silence, making a bit of a show looking around for Cas' house. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Cas told him he lived in a treehouse or a hut in the woods somewhere, eating squirrels and drinking from Dean's little creek. Cas is just strange enough, his clothes just dirty enough, his hair just matted enough.

But Cas just points to the right. "Three lots over. We've got ten acres front n' back and then the back forty into the forest." The words sound practiced and too old coming from Cas' mouth. He wonders if stating how much land you have along with where you live is customary around here. He also wonders idly if Cas is older than Dean's own eight years. He sure does talk like it. He looks like it too, like he's seen things, like he knows things. It puts Dean on edge. Dean can't think of ever meeting a kid who seemed more experienced than himself. He likes to think he's been around the block a time or two. Cas is kind of exciting.

When Dean doesn't respond, too lost in thought, Cas takes it upon himself and asks Dean if he wants to go look. Dean shoots a long look back in the direction of his house, heart thumping at the idea of going somewhere without his Father's explicit permission, but Cas' gaze is calm and wise and expectant, squinting through sunlight, and Dean can't help but follow him along the forest's edge.

Cas' house, it turns out, is not much nicer than Dean's. It's similar - squat, low, one-story, but Cas' has a wooden porch that wraps around the front to one side, and there are less weeds crawling up into the windows. The house is a warm shade of yellow that reminds Dean of Sun and fields. A stupidly old wooden barn sits crooked between the house and where Dean and Cas emerge from the forest and crappy-looking fencing weaves along the flat and the couple low hills.

Cas swings an arm out dramatically as he ducks gracefully under the fence. Dean follows, less gracefully. "Welcome to Castle Novak." He deadpans, eyeing the house and land with mild interest.

"Cool barn." Dean comments, nodding and feeling pretty damn awkward when Cas doesn't move any closer to the house. He's pretty sure that's what's supposed to happen in this situation, even if he's never been over to a friend's house before. "Are we… gonna go in?" Dean asks.

Cas quirks an eyebrow in a way that Dean's quickly learning means he's said something Cas thinks is dumb. "I have no plans to." He says cooly.

"No plans to go into your own house?"

Cas shrugs and plucks another honeysuckle from its stem. He sucks on a couple petal-tubes before responding. "I usually spend my days outside."

"Doing what?" Dean asks exasperatedly. He can feel that Cas is tense despite his relaxed behaviour, sensing it instinctually in the set of his shoulders, the curve of his mouth. Dean doesn't understand.

Cas shrugs again. He does that an awful frickin' lot, Dean thinks, but this time Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean's and there's mischief behind them and suddenly Dean's heart is pounding in excitement and anticipation.

"You'll see."

* * *

Thanks for reading, guys. Let me know what you think! Chapters will probably posted every couple days.


	3. Chapter 3

**July 3rd, 1987**

The third time Dean meets Castiel is at the end of the day, when John has already put Sam to bed in the twin bed across the room from Dean's. The Sun is dying fiery and golden where the quiet road fades into the distance and John has left to 'tie up a few ends'. Dean is sat in front of the TV, getting up to adjust the bunny ears every few minutes to try and stop the crackle. It's not working very well.

Dean just about has a heart attack when he turns away from fixing the ears for the sixth time and sees Cas' figure standing silhouetted in front of the screen door opening into the backyard.

"Shoot, Cas, you scared me!" He hisses, stomping over and angrily yanking the door open as quietly as possible for Sam's sake.

Cas takes one tentative step forward, just enough so the door catches on his hip and doesn't close again, and then he's still, save his neck which cranes and stretches, taking in the bare walls, peeling paint, stained floor. Dean watches him, his fluffy dark hair, his sad, thoughtful blue eyes, the slight twitch of his nose when a gnat lands on it, the TV crackling forgotten five feet to their left, and he's torn so his chest aches, because he's so damn proud to have a house to call his own, and he's ashamed at their lack of homeliness. No decorations, no personalization. It looks wrong. Unnatural. Strange. Dean knows. And he knows the house needs work, he knows, and he knows Cas' house probably needs just as much, and that soothes him a little.

But Cas' stare is so invasive, so intense, that Dean can only manage it for a couple minutes before the static and the crackling and Cas' silence and the moths tapping at the glass is too much and he stomps forward and shuts the door behind Cas and a "Why are you here?" bursts from his mouth unwarranted.

Cas turns quietly to Dean and Dean's suddenly very aware of his own thumping heart and Cas looks like his heart is always slow and quiet. His lips are closed and tight in an expression Dean sees in Sammy sometimes. It's defiance.

"I've come to teach you things." Cas says proudly, contrasting strangely with his floppy, knotted black hair and dirt-smudged face.

Dean can feel his brow creasing. "What?"

"You grew up in a car." His tone is somber but biting, a deadpan sort of sarcasm, and Dean clenches his teeth at it. What an ass.

"Well… yeah." He starts, "But I mean I was kinda kidding, like-"

Dean is cut off. "No you weren't. I was thinking about you and about what you said-"

"How do you know?" Frustration wells up inside Dean, all the more when Cas' face remains calm and defiant as ever. He's so fricking confusing. He's so fricking weird.

And then Cas says "I want to show you how to have fun." And Dean gets quiet. He's about to protest that he knows how to have fun when Cas rewords it suddenly and says, "I want to show you how to have fun here." And all Dean can do is follow him out the door, after glancing back quickly towards Sammy. He'll be fine. He'll be safe.

Dean, however, questions his own safety when he trails a couple feet behind Cas through their yard and then Cas climbs easily onto the fence separating their yard from the pasture beside them. The wood looks rotted and weak but Cas spares no time in pulling himself onto the highest slat of wood and slowly easing himself to stand, balancing on the inch-thick board of old cedar. Dean's eyes follow slowly from Cas' bare toes curling around the splintering wood to where he's haloed and shadowed by the setting Sun and pulls a shaky breath in as Cas gestures lightly for Dean to follow him. He manages to clamber up but wobbles terribly when he tries to stand, so Dean just sits.

Cas turns from his post to stare down at Dean. "Well aren'tcha gonna try again?"

Dean sneers at him. "Sorry if I don't wanna fall and smash my skull in."

Cas shakes his head and holds a hand out to Dean. "You won't."

And dammit Dean believes him. So he grabs Cas' hand, and pulls himself up, half expecting Cas to lose his balance and fall under Dean's weight so Dean can tell him 'I told you so', but Cas is steady as a rock and before Dean realizes it he's standing on top of the fence. He turns so he's standing on just the balls of his feet, his heels stretching down to balance his weight and the wood soft and warm and splintery under him. He looks out over the pasture and towards the Sun that paints it all orange. The cows are becoming nothing but shapes against it and the fields beyond look like they're being swallowed by the light. Dean thinks it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, and he feels like he's standing on top of the world. His chest feels warm and full. Cas stands silent beside him, their fingers still linked and becoming sweaty, and he looks over Dean's face as he gawks at the display. The Sun is good to Dean, and turns his hair to look like its rays, and his eyes to look like new grass, and his skin like the Sun on still water, smooth and bright and even, save his freckles. Cas sort of wishes he had freckles like that, and he rubs self-consciously at the dirt he knows is on his nose.

"Come on," Cas says eventually, hopping lightly down, and Dean's forgotten their fingers all twisted together and gets jerked roughly after him but manages to land half-on his feet, so his pride isn't too wounded. He just glares at Cas a little who barely manages to cover a smirk before dropping Dean's hand and walked deeper into the pasture.

They're side-by-side and quiet until they're about thirty feet from the cattle grazing peacefully on the short-grass and chamomile and Cas lies down, belly to the ground. Dean's learning to stop questioning Cas when he does things. He only ever seems to end up following him, anyway. So Dean also lies down, without a word, and follow's Cas' eyes to the cattle.

"They used to have a bull." Cas whispers, and Dean stares at him, not understanding. Cas glances at him and takes the hint to continue. "They got rid of 'im." Dean just keeps staring, brows furrowed, until Cas takes a deep breath, and slowly starts to stand up. "Which makes this much safer." His tone is still low and even and emotionless, but with his final syllable he stands fully and bolts towards the cattle, whooping loudly and senselessly at them.

Dean sees it as if in slow motion, the cows' heads jerking up from the grass almost at the same time as Cas's whoop shatters the silence of the country, the cows changing from standing still to running full-on milliseconds after Cas is, tossing their heads and giving little bucks and hops as they go, moving like a single unit, following a couple brown and cream cows in the front. They're lowing deep and grunting and huffing and Dean swears he can feel the ground tremble beneath him, and then a feeling pulls at his gut and a smile spreads wide over his face as he squints into the leftovers of the Sun and charges after Cas, the grass hot and crackling under his toes. He lets out a yell and his legs pump faster, faster, faster, and then he's even with Cas and they lean into a turn to follow the path of the cows that are still charging and protesting and the exhilaration of it has Dean feeling like he's flying. Cas glances over and sees Dean smile and it pulls a grin out of him so he lets out another animalistic cry, echoed by a howling Dean and they run faster, faster, after the cows and after the sunlight.

Until the leading cows turn sharp and they're suddenly doubling back on themselves and Cas yells and starts running to the side and Dean stays dumb and still, staring at the half-ton animals coming at him until Cas shouts his name, "DEAN," and grabs his upper arm and they dive into a tuft of chamomile and daisies, curling up together with arms over their heads and the ground thunders beneath them and hot breath slides across their backs and clumps of dirt stick to their clothes and their skin and a hoof skims Dean's arm where Cas grabbed him and then the cows are past them and they're slowing to a trot and flicking ears and tails at flies and their laboured breaths are all Dean and Cas can hear.

They're still for a moment. The bugs and the nightbirds start up again and their hearts start slowing to normal rhythms. Cas is the first to uncurl and sit up.

"Darn." He huffs, fisting handfuls of the weeds and sighing. "Buggers." He mutters, tossing a fistful of the stuff in the general direction of the cows.

Dean sits up now too, wincing slightly at the weight he puts on his right arm. "Dammit." He whispers, turning to look at his upper arm. It's right where Cas had grabbed him, the handprint only just starting to fade - a scrape. Dean supposes he's lucky the hoof didn't catch him full-on, but it still stings like a bitch. It's angry and red and about two inches long.

"Wha' happened?" Cas drawls, crawling over until he can see it.

"Damn hoof got me." Dean chirps, trying to press the sleeve of his t-shirt into it to stem the drops of blood on its surface, but it hurts it even more and Cas clucks his tongue.

"One second, Dean." He mutters distractedly, and Dean watches, half amused, half confused, as Cas stands and starts walking around the area, head bent towards the ground and muttering at the plants.

Dean lets him wander around for a few minutes before he can't help himself anymore. "So, uh… watcha lookin' for there, buddy?" He stifles a giggle as Cas shuffles around mumbling, looking like some crazy old man.

"Agrimony." Cas says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean snorts a little. "Why?"

"You got a scrape."

Cas' tone doesn't leave room for argument, so Dean shuts up and watches Cas wander in the remnants of the Sun, letting his eyes drift close and the heat of the earth soak into him until the sound of Cas ripping a hunk off a plant cuts through the thick evening air.

"Found 'er." He drawls, jogging over and picking a little yellow flower off the stem before rubbing it into Dean's wound.

"Hey!" Dean protests, reddening when his voice cracks a little. "Ow!"

Cas rolls his eyes at him but doesn't stop rubbing the flowers into the hurt. "Stop being a baby."

So Dean shuts up and ignores the sting and watches Cas do his work, brows furrowed and focused, jaw tight, and ignores the initial thought that Cas is an absolute wacko, thinking rubbing flowers on things helps, because Cas looks so earnest, and so certain, that Dean can't help but want to believe in flowers healing wounds too. Dean watches in silence until Cas is satisfied with the smudgy yellow peppering the scrape and he smashes some chamomile flowers in there for good measure.

"There." Cas states, happy with his handiwork. "You'll be okay, Dean." His tone is serious as ever, and Dean can only smile.

"Thanks, doc. Glad to hear it."

They sit quietly in the grass for a couple minutes, and cows' tails swish through the air and the grass crackles when they shift and it starts smelling like night. Peace has returned to the country.

Cas stands and Dean follows, and they start walking lazily back to the fence. They duck under this time instead of standing on top of it. Dean doesn't think it would be the same anyway without the Sun glaring in front of him.

Without warning Cas bounds off to Dean's right, towards the forest, and Dean watches him for a moment, wondering if he should follow, but then Cas jumps a little, hands reaching in front of him, and he stops and walks back to Dean.

He stands close to Dean, so Dean can smell the wind on his skin and the grass on his clothes, and holds cupped hands up close to their faces. He opens them an inch and Dean can't help but grin when a firefly lights up the little room Cas has created. Cas opens his hands completely and the firefly flies away, lighting his own path with eerie yellow-green light. Cas and Dean stand still and watch him bounce around until he settles in the grass.

Dean turns to look at his house, now only forty feet or so away. Then he turns to Cas.

"That was fun." He starts awkwardly.

Then Cas feels awkward too and he rubs at his nose and then looks over his shoulder at the forest and around at the fields a few times, his arms hanging limp at his sides, and he's quiet until Dean wants to say something else and then finally, "Yeah."

"Well… bye." Dean gives a nerdy little wave that makes him want to smack himself and Cas just nods.

"'Night."

And with that he turns away from Dean and walks towards the forest. Everything is blue and quiet and Dean just watches him leave for a while before he takes a deep breath and turns to walk towards his own house.

"Weird." He mutters softly, but he finds himself smiling.

Dean opens the door to his father pacing in front of the front door.

He freezes. He knows this isn't good. Fear and dread run cold through his veins and he cringes, muscles tightening on instinct.

His father's head whips over to face him and Dean flinches.

"Dean." His tone is low and dangerous and Dean can smell the booze on him from here. No, this is not good.

"Hey, Dad." Dean is ashamed at how small he sounds. Nothing more than a mouse. A bug.

"Where were you?" His father's voice booms through the house, Dean imagines it shaking the walls.

"My friend-"

"Friend?"

"Yeah, he lives three lots over at the yellow house, his name is Cas, he's really ni-" Dean doesn't get to finish.

"What the hell are ya doin' running around with random hick kids in the middle of the night, leaving your baby brother home alone and defenceless? Are you stupid? Do you want something to happen to him?"

"What?" Dean balks, and he can feel tears hot and angry ready to fall. "Dad, no! No! I just-"

John swings in low and close to Dean and Dean cowers, his heart thumping wildly. "You what? You thought it was a good idea to go running off in the middle of the fucking night leaving your sleeping brother alone in an unlocked house? Are you stupid? Are you retarded?"

"Dad-" Dean's voice is small and he turns his face away from the smell of alcohol coming off his father.

"DEAN, BED."

Anger and shame well inside Dean but he knows it's useless and pointless and stupid and he's so goddamn stupid he's so stupid so stupid so stupid.

So Dean turns away from John, eyes lowered and submissive, and walks into his and Sam's room, jaw clenched to keep from crying, and he shuts the door softly and crawls into bed, dirty clothes and all.

He snuffles into his pillow and a few tears fall before he can check them. Boy's don't cry. Men don't cry. He pinches the skin of his wrist hard enough he has to clench his teeth to stop from making any sound that might wake Sam.

It's useless though because Dean hears Sam sit up in bed.

"You okay?" He whispers, voice rough with sleep.

"Yeah." Dean says.

"Where'd you go?"

"I was playing with Cas."

"Oh." Sam's silent for a moment. "I like him."

Dean nods and grunts something in the affirmative and can hear Sam lie back down. Dean closes his eyes and rubs his nose into his pillow and dreams of Cas and sunlight and flowers.


	4. Chapter 4

**July 4th, 1987**

The next day is one of the hottest days Dean's ever felt in all his eight years. He opens his eyes to the sun streaming through the dusty window and groans a little. He's covered in cooling sweat, his whole bed feels damp. Blinking, he sees that Sam's bed is already empty and slowly the sounds of early morning cartoons drift to the forefront of his mind.

He gets up and changes out of the dirt- and grass-stained clothes of last night and into a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Dean wipes at the sweat beading on his forehead and under his arms. Gross.

He pads out into the hall in sticky bare feet and John is digging through one of the duffels which has yet to be unpacked. He pulls a can of instant coffee out of it and stands, rubbing a hand roughly over his face before moving to the kitchen. He doesn't look good.

"Mornin' Sammy. Mornin' Dad." Dean keeps his eyes low and gets two bowls out of the cupboard and the Cornflakes and milk.

"Dean," His father greets him, clearing his throat and closing his eyes tiredly as his coffee cools.

Dean finishes making his and Sam's breakfasts and starts carrying them over to the TV where Sammy's sitting on the floor when John starts again.

"You shouldn't have left your brother last night." He sounds tired. He sounds old. Dean feels too hot.

"I know." His voice is small. "I'm sorry."

"I know you're sorry." But there's no bark in John's voice. "Who were you with?"

"Cas." Dean pauses but surprisingly John waits for him to continue. "He lives three doors down. He's nice."

John pauses for a moment. "How'd you meet Cas?"

"He's used to coming into our yard to climb the trees and I saw 'im and starting talkin to 'im."

John seems to think for a minute, brow furrowed as he sips his coffee. Dean can see sweat trickling down his temple. They need a fan or something. "He from a good family?"

Dean winces and shrugs. From his clothes and hair and general messiness Dean would guess no, but then again sometimes him and Sam have to wear old, ripped clothes and don't bathe for a while, and Dean's pretty sure he, his Dad, and Sam are a good family, so Dean just says he isn't sure.

"I don't want you hangin' around with some squirrel-eatin' hick kid from a redneck family, you hear? If you meet his family and they don't seem like right decent people, you are not going to see him again. Clear?"

"Yessir." Dean nods sharply, his stomach dropping, and moves into the living room to sit down beside Sam and eat their soggy old cereal.

"Can we go see the fireworks pleeeeaaaassse?" Sam whines, bouncing up and down a little with his little fists clutched tight to his chest. "Pleeeeaaaase?"

John chuckles a little and ruffles Sam's hair from his seat on an old wicker chair on their rotting porch. The Sun's just starting to set over the fields down the road and the Impala and John's tool kit are shining yellow and orange in its dying rays. John takes a long pull from his bottle. "We're not that far from town, Sammy. We'll be able to see 'em from here."

"Daaaaaaadd" Sam whines but Dean reaches over and jabs him with his elbow and Sam glares at him and sticks out his tongue but shuts up.

"It'll be fun, Sammy," Dean consoles, pulling apart a dandelion leaf. "We can watch 'em right here from our own home."

Sam grins a little at that and nods. "Okay, Dean."

The three of them sit quietly, John on the sagging porch and Sam and Dean on the burnt grass making up the front lawn, ripping up handfuls of it and poking at bugs. They sweat in the heat of the Sun and the cicadas are deafening, as if their sound is heat incarnate. A soft, hot breeze catches their clothes and pulls at their hair and they breathe it in. An old green truck rattles by, a few square bales stuffed in its bed, and Dean squints through the glare at the shaggy-looking middle-aged man driving it. He can make out a few people - kids, maybe? - sitting in the passenger and small back seats. Dean watches it drive down the road and it turns into a drive after only a few seconds. Dean wonders whether it turned into Cas' drive, whether that's Cas' family. His Dad looks tired, if it is.

Silence, save the cicadas, returns to the area after the engine of the truck sputters to a stop and Dean stands.

"Dad, can Sam and I walk around a little until the fireworks start?"

Sam stumbles to a stand and John takes a deep, resolved breath. His bottle sweats just like his brow. "You be back here on this lawn before the Sun's fully set. Clear?"

"Yessir." Dean nods, a smiling pulling at his cheeks. "You comin' Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam bounces up and down and swipes at the sweat on his face and Dean jogs around side of the house.

He finds himself concentrating on the treeline at the back of the yard, looking for Cas, as has become near instinctual, but the yard is empty. Dean picks up a skipping sort of run and calls for Sam to keep up, but all Dean hears is a thump. He swings around in a millisecond, heart suddenly thundering and mind in panic mode, and Sam is lying motionless in the grass.

"Sammy," Dean calls, sprinting over and kneeling beside him.

But Sam is breathing and his eyelids are fluttering and his bottom lip is sticking out poutily. "Too hot." He whines.

Dean sighs and smacks Sam on the shoulder. "Don't scare me like that, Sam."

Sam opens his eyes and looks up at Dean, making his best puppy face. "But it really is hot, Dean! Too hot! I'm gonna die!"

"Then don't lie in the sun. You'll start to stink."

Sam just huffs air at Dean and rolls over a few times until he's lying in the shade at the side of the house.

"So what, you're not comin' with me anymore?"

Sam makes a vaguely negative noise and Dean just sighs and starts walking towards the back of the lot.

It is really hot. Sam's right. But Dean wants to see Cas, badly. All day he's found himself itching for the strange talk and strange staring, itching to learn more fun and potentially dangerous things to do in the country with a couple of cows and old fencing. Cas is fun and Cas is mysterious and Cas is thrilling in ways Dean's never encountered before and it's addicting.

He skips over to where the burnt grass turns into forest and takes the little invisible path Cas showed him when he took Dean to his house a few days previous. Dean feels intrusive as he skirts the property of the two lots between his and Cas' house, running his hands along thick cornstalks and fine wheat and poking curiously at little soybean plants and playing with alfalfa shoots before Cas' barren yard comes into view. Dean checks behind him and sure enough the Sun is getting very low in the sky. He doesn't have much time, so he sucks in a fortifying breath, gathers his courage, and runs through the fields that make up the farthest parts of Cas' property until he's even with the old barn, and a flickering light catches his eye. He stops dead and takes a few more steps until he can see the far side of the barn. Sure enough, there are figures standing all around, a few striking up a fire and a few others pulling hay bales and bags around. Dean is suddenly overcome with self-consciousness. What the hell was he thinking? He's actually trespassing in some stranger's yard, clearly interrupting something, and they don't know him and he doesn't know them and what if they call the cops? What on earth will his Dad say if they call the cops? And Dean's breath is coming so fast and he's looking all around him for the most discreet escape route until his name rings out over the fields.

"Dean!" It's faint, and Dean's head whips over to the people at the barn. They're all stopped and looking at him. "DEAN!" Dean squints and can see a little figure waving at him. It's too dark in the light but Dean recognizes the gritty voice as Cas' and he waves hesitantly back and jogs towards him.

"Hey, Cas." He says once he's close enough not to have to yell.

"Hey, Dean." Cas is staring at him, along with three other boys, one girl, and the middle-aged man who was driving the old green truck.

Dean takes a moment to look everyone over, mind both racing and blank, coming up dumb.

Cas takes a couple steps forward, and he's staring hard at Dean and Dean gets the feeling Cas is trying to tell him something with his eyes but he's really not picking it up and then Cas turns to look at his family. "This is my Dad, and my brothers Michael, Luce, Balthazar, and Gabriel, and my sister Anna." Anna waves a little at Dean - she's maybe ten or eleven - and Gabriel and winks at him, grinning, and Dean decides he doesn't really like him - he's maybe thirteen. The others look a bit older. Dean realizes that Cas is the baby of the family, even though the position doesn't suit him.

Dean gulps and he can feel himself starting to blush and his toe digs a little hole in the dirt. "Hi…" He stutters thickly as Cas' Dad strides forward.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." His hand is outstretched, his eyes purpled, bagged, and tired, his face and head scruffy and greying. "You can call me Chuck." His voice is soft and kind. He waits for a moment when Dean releases his hand, just staring at him, before he decides to continue. "We're just setting up a bonfire if you and your family want to join us? I'm assuming you moved into Dan Dell's house?"

Dean nods and shrugs a little. "I guess."

"Why don't you go ask your parents if they wanna come over?"

And Dean doesn't even think to correct the man that he only has a Dad now, he only nods furiously and shoots a look at Cas who's standing silent and grim a few feet back, and then he turns on his heels and books it through the cooling evening back to his house.

Dean doesn't think or even breathe really until he's back in their own yard, puffing and sucking in the hot air, taking a minute to catch his breath before talking as his Father and Sam stare at him with bewildered looks.

"Cas' family is having a bonfire and they asked us to come." He blurts.

John is shaking his head before Dean is even done. "Dean, I-"

And for the first time, Dean interrupts him. "Dad, please."

And for the first time, after staring at him good and hard, Dean forcing himself to maintain the eye contact, John lets him. He sighs and looks at the grass and takes at pull on his bottle before standing up and gesturing to Sammy. "Fine, Dean. Let's go meet the neighbours."

Dean's heart feels fit to burst and he can't help but bounce and jump and grin stupidly up at his Dad as he follows him down the road to Cas' house.

Dean leads them around the sagging yellow house through a maze of bikes and baseball bats and wheelbarrows and yard equipment, around a tractor and a tiller and a couple old lawnmowers, and into the vast backyard of the Novaks. One of the older kids sees them first and jogs over to Chuck, pulling on his shirt to alert him of the Winchesters' presence. Chuck strides easily over and greets them warmly, shaking John's hand firmly, nodding to Dean, and waving at Sammy who cows and hides behind John's leg.

"Welcome to Welcome, boys." He grins at them all and turns toward his own family who're all still and watching the interaction. "Come have a sit!" Chuck offers, gesturing to bales of hay and logs set up around the fire blazing in a pit of stones. He introduces his five sons and daughter quickly to John and Sam and Dean can't help but glance worriedly at John every few seconds, wondering whether he approves of Cas' family or not, whether he approves of Cas, but his face gives nothing away. Dean thinks his eyes linger longer on Cas, who's staring intensely and somewhat aggressively at Dean's Dad, but that's just Cas, Dean thinks.

John sits beside Chuck on a log and Dean makes sure to scoot in and share a bale with Cas, making Sam whine and pout until he sucks it up and takes the bale right beside them, sharing it with Gabriel who grins down at him. Sam eyes him and crosses his arms and pouts his lips, holding onto the grudge and vow of silence as long as he can before Gabriel seems to pull him out of his shell.

Dean breathes the new night air and the bonfire's smoke in deep and pulls his attention away from where John and Chuck are talking, faces lit orange and severe in the firelight.

"Well what do you think?" Cas asks, and Dean jolts a little. Cas can be so quiet Dean forgets he can talk.

"Of what?" Dean mumbles, looking into the fire rather than at Cas himself.

"My family." Cas' tone is somber and dull as ever but for some reason Dean can hear the guardedness, the unease behind it. The sense in him that drives him to protect and care for Sam flares up and Dean is forced to look at Cas, the need to comfort and console him pulling at his gut strong.

"They're really, really nice, Cas. I like them." His tone is earnest and soft.

And Cas seems to deflate like a balloon and Dean knows he's said the right thing. He can feel the tension ease out of Cas' shoulders inches away from him. It makes Dean feel lighter.

"You want marshmallows?" Cas husks.

"Nah."

"How's your scrape?"

Dean rucks up his sleeve to show Cas. "It's all scabby now. It feels good." He catches Cas' eyes and grins. "Guess your flowers did the trick, then, eh?"

Cas squirms ever so slightly and blushes and Dean giggles and Cas grins. They both breathe and sit quiet for a minute. Dean looks over each of Cas' siblings. Some of them intimidate him, honestly, especially the older boys who Dean thinks must be in the mid-teens at least. Michael catches his eye and glares at Dean and Dean quickly looks away, but is then looking straight at Luce, who's looking at him like he wants to eat him so he looks away from him, and ends up looking at Anna who's staring at him, but she smiles and then turns to talk to Balthazar, who's sitting primly beside her. Dean just stares at the ground, afraid to catch anyone else's eye. His head whips over towards Cas when Cas huffs a breath that Dean's pretty sure means he's laughing at him.

"You wanna see something cool?" Cas asks.

Dean's smiles and he side-eyes Cas, ignoring the eyes he can feel on him. "What'd ya have in mind?"

"Dad," Cas chirps, his tone crisp and his back straightening. His Father looks at him, all tired and sagging and yellowed by the fire like their house. "Can I go show Dean the cars?"

Chuck nods, mumbling something vaguely positive, and then looks to John. Dean wonders if Chuck can feel the power and leadership John radiates just like he can.

John seems to stare at Cas for a while before his eyes flicker to Dean's and he nods solemnly.

Cas stands and Dean follows and they run only about thirty feet around the side of the barn and Dean laughs and 'whoa's at the collection of three or four rusted-out classic junkers sitting in dead grass against the barn. They're similar ages or older than Baby, and he makes a note to mention them to his Dad tomorrow morning. He can't make out their colours anymore, the night getting too thick, but Cas doesn't dwell on them like Dean wants to. He doesn't even look at them, really, he just keeps on walking until he's at the cars, and then he's climbing, one foot on the back tire, hands on the roof, and he pulls himself up. The roof of the car dips a little under his weight but he seems unfazed.

"Come on, Dean."

So Dean clambers up onto the one farthest from the barn wall with Cas, and turns to face west, towards town, just like him.

Cas doesn't talk so Dean doesn't either. Cas seems thoughtful, Dean thinks, and he thinks he should let him think all his thoughts without interrupting him, so Dean just looks up at the Milky Way spreading thick and bright above them, and at the shadows and shapes cast by the fire's glow, and at the fireflies bouncing senselessly over the fields, and sometimes at Cas, until the fireworks start. Dean can make out Sam's squeals behind him as the boom reaches them a couple seconds after the lights burst across the sky, spinning and flaring and roaring red, white, and blue. A smile is pulled out of him and his heart feels like it's bumping against the back of his throat.

Cas grins a little and glances over at Dean, and at the way the fireworks and the shadows of the evening sort of fight over his face, turning him red and blue and black and purple and his eyes and teeth shine. Cas shifts happily on the metal roof and turns back to look at the display.

"Happy Fourth of July, Dean." He says softly. He doesn't think Dean hears him until he bumps him gently with his shoulder, and then Dean catches his eye and they both giggle a little bit for no real reason. Cas thinks it feels very good.


	5. Chapter 5

**July 13th, 1987**

Dean is surprised one morning by a knock on the door. It's their first knock on the door of their new home and both Dean and Sam race to answer it first.

It's actually Sam who reaches it first, but not because he's faster, Dean consoles himself, it's because Sam ducked in front of him and Dean had to skid to a stop to avoid trampling him.

So Sam yanks it open and chirps a friendly and polite greeting to Cas, who's standing as disheveled and wind-blown as ever on their warped wooden porch.

"Mornin' Cas," Sam says.

"Mornin'." Dean echoes, poking his head around the side of the door and grinning at him. Cas offers a small smile and a nod in return. "You've finally found our front door." Dean teases, and Cas' nose quirks in distaste, only from trying to stop a smirk.

"Boys?" John yells from the bathroom, tapping his razor firmly against the sink. "Who is it?"

"It's Cas, Dad!" Dean yells back, suddenly looking nervously between the still-empty hallway and his friend. He's still not sure what John thinks of him, not sure if he approves, and Dean's been thinking near-nonstop what to do if it turns out John doesn't like Cas. Dean has never done something his Father didn't want before. Frankly, the thought terrifies him.

But his Father just grunts a little as a response so Dean tries to put him out of his mind and turns to Cas again.

"Whatcha doin' today, Cas?" Dean asks, rocking back on his heels in feigned nonchalance.

Cas shrugs a little, as is customary, it seems. "Just walkin' around the forest for now."

Dean nods, opening his mouth to ask to join him when John lumbers out of the hallway and fills the rest of the doorway behind Sam and Dean. "How are ya, Castiel?" He asks, but his tone is flat and his face is unreadable and Cas only glances at him briefly before his eyes flicker down and he's scuffing at the painted wood with a bare toe.

"Good, sir." He answers, voice hard and crisp, lacking the drawl and ease it carries when he's talking to Dean. It makes Dean wonder if Cas' own Father is strict too, sometimes, even though he seems pretty relaxed on the surface.

"You wanna head out with Dean, I'm guessing?" John's tone holds some danger in it, some testiness, and Dean knows Cas picks up on it because his back is subtly straighter and his eyes still train down.

"Yes, sir."

John grunts a little before taking his eyes off Cas and ruffling Sammy's shaggy head of hair. "That's okay, Sammy. You 'n me'll go into town. Stock up a bit, alright?"

And Sam nods and smiles up at him and John nods to Cas and then to Dean, and then he turns and heads back inside.

Dean can see Cas deflate and he doesn't notice his own muscles slackening at the lack of John's presence, he just grins at Cas, who returns it.

"Ready to go?" Dean chirps, pushing through Cas and closing the door behind him after yelling a quick, "Be back before lunch!" over his shoulder.

The two skip over the pokey yellow grass of the front yard and around the side yard and then Cas side-eyes Dean, which Dean reads correctly as a challenge. They both take off, milliseconds away from perfect unison, across the barren field towards the forest. Cas pulls easily ahead of Dean and giggles when Dean grunts and forces himself faster, faster, faster, til they're abreast. Dean glances over at Cas and watches him for a minute, their arms pumping and Cas' cheeks stretched into a smile and he looks so free, so open, that Dean barely recognizes him from the quiet, guarded kid he met only days ago. Dean finds himself smiling too, until Cas catches him looking at him and sticks his tongue out at him, and then he ratchets the speed up a notch and pulls a couple feet ahead.

"Cas, you as-" Dean's cut off when his foot catches in a rabbit hole and his breath lets out of his lungs in a solid 'oof', and he's rolling and tumbling across the grass and weeds.

Cas slows fractionally to turn at look at Dean sprawled on the ground. He barks a laugh and slows to a stop, hands on hips, staring Dean down as he mutters angrily and spits out bits of grass and dirt.

"You asshole." He growls, brow furrowed and mouth pouting.

"Aw, Dean, don't be such a sore loser." Cas says through a half-grin. "Anyhow, it's not your fault ya can't run for shit."

And at that Dean snarls and get ups and charges right for Cas, who shrieks in surprise and delight and turns and bolts for the trees.

"You take that back!" Dean yells, arms pumping wildly until he's even with Cas again.

"NO!" Cas yells, and then they're in the trees, hopping over bushes and branches and holes, ducking under low boughs, swerving around crooked trunks, and then Cas is slowing down so Dean does too.

"I hate you." Dean huffs with a sour face, turning so he's facing Cas who's still grinning smugly.

Cas breathes deep to catch his breath and rubs a little at his cheeks. He can't remember the last time he's smiled so much his cheeks hurt. It makes his chest feel warm and his steps feel light. "No you don't." He mutters, turning away from Dean's stink eye and towards a path Dean doesn't see.

"Yeah I do." Dean insists.

"Shut up and look for berries." Cas dismisses Dean, turning his attention away from the high branches and deep into the spiny bushes they're starting to push through.

"Berries?" Dean echoes, stink eye and hatred forgotten.

"Yeah. Blackberry season's just starting."

"Like in the forest?"

Cas stops and turns to Dean whose eyes are wide and jaw is loose. "Yes, Dean. In the forest." Dean doesn't say anything - he still looks ridiculously surprised so Cas huffs a sigh. "Blackberry bushes. See?" And Cas turns and reaches carefully into a bush beside them and he pulls a few fat blackberries off a stem. He offers them to Dean whose slack mouth turns into a broad smile, so Cas can see all his straight, white teeth. Cas tongues at the hole in his.

"You've never picked berries before?" He asks.

Dean shakes his head and stuffs them into his mouth. They stain his fingers and his lips purple and his smile grows impossibly wider. He talks through a high-pitched laugh, hands curling up against his chest, making fists with excitement. "Holy heck, Cas, can you imagine a PIE made out of these?!" And Dean jumps up a down a little, eyes scanning the bushes hungrily for more.

And now Cas barks a surprised laugh and grins at Dean. "Good, right?"

Dean nods and stuffs his hands in the bush but yelps and pulls away in a millisecond. "Ow!"

"They have spines." Cas says with little to no inflection, but he has to try hard to suppress a smile when Dean turns to glare at him.

"No shit." Dean snarks.

They fall into a companionable silence after that, save for Castiel leaning over and giving Dean the occasional tip: "Pick the blackest ones. Leave the red and purple ones for another day." "Check for ants. Sometimes they get covered in 'em." "Check under the leaves for hiding ones." And they soon have to take off their shirts and use them, staining them awfully, as makeshift baskets to hold all the berries.

Dean follows Castiel over a path that's invisible to him, and they look up at the trees to try to see the birds that are screeching at each other and they blow at mosquitos that hover over their arms and faces and they step delicately over big rocks and fallen logs. Dean squints when they break through the trees at the sun that's glaring at them over a field. Dean instinctively breathes deep the smell of the wind over the wheat and Cas looks over and smiles at him. Cas moves over to a large oak that borders the field and ties ends of his shirt together and slings it over his arm, and then he's climbing, feet finding holds in small nooks and twists of bark, fingers reaching for branch after branch until it's hard to go any higher.

Dean stares at him from the ground, the wind playing in his hair, and he takes a deep breath and follows Cas' lead. He's slow to climb the tree, and Cas mutters soft encouragements to him. "Come on, Dean. Now this branch here. Foot in that little hole - left. Left. Good. One more." And then Cas blushes a little, because he can't remember ever doing that before, ever talking this much, ever wanting to talk this much, really, and he wonders what's happening to him, what Dean is doing to him, because his own voice is soft rather than rough, and his demeanour is patient rather than standoffish. It scares him a little. It's strange. But he thinks it feels good.

And then Dean is sat beside Castiel in the oak, his muscles tense and his breath quick.

"We're pretty high up." Dean says, fingers gripping the bark near-painfully.

"It's okay, Dean. You won't fall."

A sharp bark of laughter leaves Dean. "How do you know?" His voice cracks and he swallows and blushes.

"Because there's lots of branches here for you to hold, and I'd grab your arm or something if you slipped."

And dammit Dean believes Cas, because his eyes are steady and wide and his breath is even and soft, and so Dean furrows his brow and nods and settles into the V between two main limbs.

Cas is sat precariously farther out out a limb so he's facing Dean, who's much closer to the heart of the tree, and they both untie the ends of their stained, stretched shirts to reveal the juicy, squished mess that is their berries. Dean breaks out into a brilliant smile which makes Cas smile and then they're shoving fistfulls of the mush into their mouths and soon they're stained purple everywhere and the Sun is hot and the birds sing sweetly and both Dean and Cas' hearts swell with contentment.

Cas is the first to speak, his fingers slowing to play with the berries rather than devouring them, and his eyes train downwards. Dean stills, can feel the shift between them, and he stares at Cas.

"What's up?"

Cas chews on his lip and doesn't meet Dean's eyes and his fingers fiddle and his toes curl and uncurl and it makes Dean's chest feel tense and hot and he doesn't like it.

"Cas?"

And Dean can hear Cas swallow, and his eyes finally flicker up to meet Dean's, and then he breathes deep and he speaks. "Dean…" His pause is pregnant and all Dean can do is stare earnestly at him. "Are we… friends?"

And then Dean laughs, head thrown back and eyes closed, before leaning forward again and grinning broadly at Cas. "Sure we are!" And Cas' eyes, puppy-dog wide and blue as heck, stare cautiously at Dean, and his fingers still play nervously. "Gee, Cas, I'm kinda 'ffended. What did ya think we are?" Because the urge Dean feels to comfort Cas, to assure him that they're good, pulls strong and urgent at his gut.

Cas just shrugs a little but one side of his mouth is quirking up into a grin and it makes Dean warm. Dean wipes his hands on his shorts and finishes off the last of his berries.

"So are there lots of kids around here?" He asks through the mouthful.

"In Welcome?"

"Yeah. Like around our houses."

Cas shrugs again and seems content once more, eating his berries one by one, fingers picking at them delicately. "Not really. There's more kids in town." He pauses to think, mouth quirking and eyes searching the air. "There's the Lafitte family a few minutes away; the kid's named Benny. And there's the Harvelle family down the road. They got a daughter, my age. Jo. They own the bar."

Dean grimaces a little. "My dad's probably met 'em, then."

Cas' stare is even and solemn and wise. "He drink?"

Dean nods, and once he meets Cas' eyes he can't pull away.

"Mine too." Cas concludes, and it seems precious and delicate and important, this small piece of sensitive information that joins the boys. "I'm never gonna drink like that." It's near a whisper.

Dead shakes his head. "Me either." And the silence is heavy and thick and he needs to say something else. Something to break the tension. "So how old are you?" he asks quickly, hoping to lighten the mood. Delicate topics like that make him uncomfortable, make him squirm and feel hot.

"Eight." Castiel replies. "You?"

"Eight." Dean says, nodding. "We're gonna be in the same class, then."

"Yes." Cas slips his shirt back on, disinterestedly examining the purple juice smeared all over the baggy, holey shirt. "But that's a long ways off, Dean." And with no further words, Cas drops out of the tree.

A yell is torn from Dean's throat and he leaps forward, accidentally dropping his shirt onto the ground, but when he leans around the branch Cas is standing up at the base of the tree, hands on hips, the ghost of a smile pulling at his features.

"You loser." Dean hisses, eyes narrowed, embarrassment warming his cheeks.

Cas huffs a laugh and turns away, walking along the narrow grass strip dividing the thick forest from the wheat field. "Come on, Dean." He chirps over his shoulder.

Dean scowls to himself and manages to shimmy down the trunk of the tree, scraping his ribs a little in the process, but he just presses on the wounds, grunts a little in frustration, puts his shirt back on, and runs after Cas. He spots a couple honeysuckles on the side of the path and picks them, forgetting his anger at Cas in a second. Dean isn't very good at holding grudges.

"Here," He says, somewhat breathlessly, when he reaches Cas, and Cas raises a self-righteous eyebrow at Dean but takes the flower.

Dean sneers at him a little in response to the eyebrow-raise, but ignores Cas' penetrative gaze and picks a few petals off and puts them on his tongue, just as Cas taught him to. But these are not the same. Bitter flavour coats Dean's tongue and he coughs and hisses and spits them violently out just as Castiel bursts into assholian laughter, hands clutching at his stomach and head thrown back.

"AW. CAS-" Dean shouts angrily, spitting repeatedly on the ground to try to get the taste out of his mouth, even going so far as to try to wipe his tongue off with his filthy shirt, scraping at his tastebuds with his nails. "WHAT THE HELL, CAS."

Cas just keeps laughing. "What? It's not my fault you just ate a clover flower."

"These are honeysuckles!" Dean whines exasperatedly, shaking the pink flower in Cas' face, his own face still skewed and puckered.

"No, that's clover."

Dean stares for a moment at the flower. It's fluffy. It's pink. It has tubular petals. Frustration wells in Dean and he shakes it at Cas again. "THEY'RE THE SAME."

Cas grins at him and shrugs. "Whatever you say, Dean." And he keeps walking along the path.

Dean fumes and glares at Cas' back, but he drops the flower and reluctantly follows him through the grass.

After a few minutes of silence Cas stops abruptly and picks some little red berries off a low plant and hands one to Dean. "I apologize." He says solemnly, holding eye contact that makes Dean want to believe him, but Dean's still feeling sore.

"Why should I trust you?" Dean snarks, nose quirking in distaste as he holds the berry loosely.

"Dean, you did that to yourself. I'd never steer you wrong like that."

"You totally knew it was clover, and you let me eat it anyway! What if it was poisonous?" Dean says exasperatedly.

"Then I would have stopped you. Contrary to what you may think, I do not want you to die."

"Stop using such big words!" Dean snarls, closing his hands into angry fists until he feels the berry squish and remembers it. He stops and they both stare at the red juice leaking off his palm.

Now Cas has an angry face and Dean deflates.

"I picked that for you!" Cas shouts, brow pulled low and shoulders high.

Dean frowns at the berry and at Castiel. They're both silent for a moment. The cicadas seem louder than ever.

Dean sighs. "Sorry, Cas." He mutters.

Cas humphs but deflates too. "I'm sorry too. I should have told you it was clover."

They both stare at the smushed berry in his hand.

"They're sheep's nipples." Cas explains morosely.

Dean snorts a laugh and quickly moves to cover his mouth.

"What?" Cas asks, brow pulled low and defensive again.

Dean snorts another ugly laugh. "Sorry." Another short laugh.

"What?!" Cas cries emphatically.

"Nipples!" Dean shouts finally, bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Oh," Cas says over Dean's laughter. He examines the berry in his hand. "Is 'nipples' funny?"

And for some reason that sends Dean into another gale of laughter. "Yes, Cas, nipples is funny." He chokes, slapping Cas amicably on the shoulder.

It takes Dean a couple minutes to calm down, meanwhile Cas does crack a little smile. He likes the feeling he gets when he makes Dean laugh.

When Dean finally shuts up he examines the berry in his palm again. "So what is a- uh… this?" He asks.

"It's just a wild strawberry." Cas explains through a grin.

Dean slurps the crushed fruit from his hands and smiles at Cas. "Sheep's nipples taste awesome." He deadpans, and they both burst into giggles.


End file.
